Silence
by LGenieT
Summary: Silence is an escape for Seth Bexley, but silence cannot help her escape all parts of life. Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and all related content belongs to Suzanne Collins. All characters you don't recognize are my own creations.
1. Chapter 1

The sound of the silence. That's all I hear. Silence. Nothing stirs, nothing moves, nothing seems to even breathe. The silence is calming. I gently let my head back as my eyes shut, and I let the sound of the silence roll over me like water over rocks in a river. I embrace the serenity of the moment, willing it to last forever, so that I could just sit, relishing the lack of movement and the silence that usually evades me. This is one of the rare moments I have to myself. A moment of silence. A peaceful silence, like after a spring rain, when the air is still and free from wind and the animals have not yet emerged from their shelters. A beautiful moment.

...

"SETHANIE ANN BEXLEY!"

...

And the moment's gone.

I sigh and scream in reply, "YES, MOTHER?!"

The full name always means trouble. What did I do this time? I ask myself. When no reply comes from the flat, I try again. "YES, MOTHER?!"

Nothing again.

I growl in frustration, pick myself up off the ground, and try fruitlessly to make my trousers seem less filthy before striding toward the family shop, only to be promptly shoo'd away by my mother, who is screaming at me to leave my boots outside, the moment I poke my head through the door. She yells that I need to be ready for the reaping.

I've tried to forget, but it's that time of year again. The Hunger Games. The annual televised fight to the death. This will be my seventh year in the running to be in the Hunger Games, and as I've never had to apply for tesserae, rations of wheat and fuel in exchange for an extra chance at either glory or death, I'm in seven times. My nine-year-old little brother, Layonnel, isn't old enough to be in the running for the Hunger Games yet, since the lottery begins at age twelve.

I begin to unlace my dark leather boots at the top of my calf, complaining about my mother's neat-freak mentality under my breath, and roughly chuck them against the shop wall, causing the building's frame to shudder and creak, my mother to scream at me yet again, and my mood to improve.

I climb through the doorway onto the shop floor, which is littered with the week's debris. I turn and race up the steps, taking them three at a time, and I find Layon at the top of the stairs, bounding up and down the hall, flailing his toy hovercraft around as he makes "hovercraft sounds" that remind me a little of a rabid squirrel.

I made that toy hovercraft for him two years ago, when a disastrous storm came down on Three and Four and knocked over trees in the forest beyond the electric fence surrounding the District. My family and I would have lost our lives during the storm, had the Capitol left the electricity on in Three and Four; a tree just outside the fence was hit by lightning and crashed right next to the shop, crushing a portion of the fence and three of our sheep in the process. I can see it clearly in my head: the first scene of the storm, imprinted in my mind like it was yesterday.

I feel myself fall into the memory as my subconscious takes over and I am subjected to the wills of my mind as a flashback begins. This time, however, all I can see is the fallen tree, the way I saw it for the first time. The memory takes hold, replayed as vividly as if it were yesterday.

_I step outside with my father, where the tree lies atop the barbed wire fence, folded over on itself, and lodged partially inside three of our sheep, a mangled and bloody mess of wool, gore, and wood. The other animals stand nearby, one sheep comically holding its head against a branch, since it can't walk backwards, away from the wreckage. I would have laughed had I not been so thrown by the accident itself._

Thoughts from the past flood my mind, thoughts that had occurred to me by that scene of my life, as well as those that came after, thoughts about how my mother and brother were traumatized by the incident; they cowered in a closet while my father and I broke up the fallen tree to use for fuel as well as salvage as much of the dead sheep as we could. Since he's Three's butcher, he's handy with a knife, a skill he taught me, and together we efficiently saved the majority of the tree and sheep. If the electricity had been on, all four of us would have died in a fire started by the fallen tree; I carved Layon's hovercraft toy out of a chunk of it.

I break free from my flashback and return to the present, lifting my head after having fallen onto my hands and knees at the top of the steps as Layon runs by me, and I have to fight the urge to trip him and make him go skidding down the hall. Of course, he would probably have laughed and asked to do it again, even if he had lost a tooth in the process. He's already dressed for the reaping in a white button-down shirt that's too big for him, an old brown vest of my father's from when he was a child, and brown trousers that come down just below his knees. His brown lace- up shoes, currently untied, are a death trap, and because of them, Layon tumbles head first down the hall without my intervention. Before I can even react, he's back on his feet laughing and resuming his hovercraft noises.

I smile and walk into the bedroom I share with Layon. Hanging from my bed, which is above Layon's, bunk-style, is my aunt's light green dress that she never would let me touch. She died earlier on in the year and left her dress to me. Not that I want it or even knew her very well. All I remember about this dress is that I tried to put it on while I was going through a phase, and she threw a fit about it. I never understood why, though, and now, I don't understand why she left her most prized possession to me. She never liked me all that much. But, I sigh, pull my hair out of the braid, and put on the dress anyway.

After I figure out where every body part is supposed to go and fit myself into the dress accordingly, I open the closet door to find a tall, beautiful young woman staring back at me from inside the mirror. The pastel green brings out my eyes, which are now accentuated without the use of kohl. The sleeves fall to the middle of my forearm in a graceful manner. The middle fits snugly across my midsection without being unflattering. The hem of the dress sits right below my knees, hiding unfortunate scars from woodworking accidents and small fights at school. Looking at myself in the mirror, my auburn hair already perfect and wavy despite being in a messy braid all morning, no one would never guess I was the rough girl I am. I look just like my aunt. I look... too different from my normal self. It's unnerving.

I turn on the spot and begin down the stairs, only to nearly trip over Layon. After I get out the door (which, believe me, is quite a feat in my household), I pick up my boots, still sitting right outside the door, and beat them against the animal pen to get most of the mud off. After they are fully laced, I look at my reflection in the window and I look more like myself. I am no longer my aunt, but Seth Bexley.

I walk back into the shop to find my parents in their usual reaping attire, yelling at each other, before they shoo me out the front door to be registered. Layon is still playing with his hovercraft and waiting patiently for him and my parents to leave and attend the reaping. I smile, ruffle his hair, and leave the shop without a word.

I stop by the Yorns' house, which is in the same vicinity as my family's shop/flat, on my way to the square. The Yorns are the apothecary family of Three, and it definitely doesn't hurt to be their only daughter's best friend. She is three years younger than I am, and we had known each other for years. I turn the corner, and there she is. Waiting for me. Smiling at me with her beautiful, white smile. Simply seeing her brightens my day. She is my best friend in the world, but she means more than that to me. She's almost my sister. Like the little sister I never got to have. Rabecca Yorn. I would do anything to keep that smile on her face. She means more to me than anybody else, even my family. I don't know how to explain it any better, but she's almost family. I tear my gaze away from her bright smile and admire her choice of dress. Her pastel blue brings out her gorgeous eyes, today a beautiful aqua. Her blonde hair is braided down her back in an intricate way her mother must have done.

I recognize that style of braid. She braided my hair like that years ago when I was asleep, on the day we met. I realize my mistake too late and sink back into my mind's reality, which at the time is obscenely different from my body's reality.

_"I'm going to kill you!"_

_A little girl, seven years old maximum, covers her smile (badly) with her hands and twists back and forth, her two blonde braids swinging with her body. She, while I was asleep, had braided my hair while my hand was in it, and as a joke, she braided my hand into my hair. I guess it was partially my fault, since I was the one who had fallen asleep in the apothecary's waiting room.  
I try to look menacing, but when one's hand is tied to one's head, being threatening is difficult. I swing my feet down from the arm of the chair and start to run at her, but it proves to be difficult to run while one's shoes are tied together. I almost land face down on the ground, but my left hand takes my right's place to break my fall._

_The little girl laughs and turns to run away, but my arm is long enough and my reflexes fast enough to catch her ankle, and she squeals as she plummets toward the ground. I start to pull her toward me, and after a long ordeal of screaming, kicking, biting, and a broken nose on my part, I get her to untie my hand from my hair and my shoes from each other._

_Before she can run away, I grab her around the waist and pull her down onto my leg. She gives me a look that calls an ashamed dog to my mind. Her big blue eyes look up at me and her lower lip quivers._

_I change my mind about my next action and say, "Next time, if you want to make that prank even better, don't stick around to see the outcome."_

_She smiles and laughs, and hugs me around my neck. "I'm Rabecca. What's your name?" she asks, her head buried into my neck._

_"I'm Seth," I say with a genuine smile on my face._

I pull myself back into reality and find myself lying on the pavement, Becca sitting by me, waiting for me to wake up again. These flashbacks have been coming more and more frequently now...

"Morning!" Becca says, not too fazed by my flashback, breaking me from my own thoughts.

"Morning, pretty girl," I reply, tweaking her nose.

She smiles even bigger, a subtle hint of pink appears in her ears, and she replies, "Your dress is really pretty, Seth."

She stands and offers me her hand to pull me up. Once on my feet, I dust myself off, then check my boots' laces because of the flashback. Becca offers me her arm, and I take it, a common gesture of friendship in Three.

Then we take one final detour to the Phillips' house. Mr. Phillips is the administrator of our school. He mainly walks around the school making sure we don't misbehave. I have spent more than my fair share of time in his office, Rabecca by my side, where we befriended Mr. Phillips' son Nicolas.

Remember when I said Becca means more to me than anybody else? I lied. She and Nic are on equal ground. He was in my year and would always tell us that our antics were funny and that even his dad was amused by them at times. Nic's amicable personality, charm, and sense of humor were immediately appealing, and we became close friends soon after.

Then, as is customary in Three, my parents made a business deal with his parents and forced an arranged marriage upon us. It's not that big a deal in Three, but when you're eleven and your parents tell you that you are going to marry the boy who is your best friend, you are grossed out and freaked out. But we both eventually got over it and went on with our lives, ignoring the fact that we will eventually have to get married. Even without the push from our parents, it probably would have happened anyway. Our parents made a good choice. The three of us, me, Nic, and Becca, became the best of friends in school. Nic said his father called us the Three Musketeers, after an old, old book.

Nic joins our arm-linked chain as we pass his house and greets us with, "Well, don't my two favorite ladies look lovely today!"

I smile as Becca says, "Morning, Nic." She fancies him, and I can't see why not. He's the perfect boy, but he is mine, and the entire district knows it.

"Nice jacket," I tell him, and I'm not lying. His dark grey jacket suits his dark hair and dark brown eyes, and I know that I'm lucky.

The three of us walk arm-in-arm toward the town square for registration- me, my fiancé, and my best friend in the world. Life couldn't get much better.

We talk and laugh as we register, then Nic breaks off toward his section after a kiss on my cheek and on Becca's hand, and the two of us walk together to our designated section. We talk about this year's Games, like the arena or the possible Three candidates. Of course, Nic and I are only in seven times and Becca four, since we've never had tesserae, but Rabecca's younger brother applied on a dare behind their backs. He is thirteen, in the running twelve times. We worry together about what will happen if he is reaped, since nobody would volunteer in his place. "Hey," she interjects, "what happens if one of us is reaped?" I pause momentarily, but I judge from the look on her face that she is joking.

I laugh and reply, "I'll volunteer for you."

"And I for you," she counters with another flash of her smile.

The Panem anthem plays and a man from the Capitol takes the stage. He wears a stupid emerald green suit that matches his slicked back hair. His skin is a startling purple to contrast. He welcomes us in his stupid Capitol accent with those stupid Capitol words in his stupid Capitol suit to the reaping for the 73rd Hunger Games. The video plays while I space out then Mister Capitol, whose name I don't care to remember, takes the microphone again. Butterflies in my stomach take flight as he smiles what the Three Musketeers call "the visage of coming doom".

"And our female tribute is..." he reaches into the ball containing all of our names, grabs a slip of paper, and reads, as my heart stops beating, "Rabecca Yorn."

I don't believe what I hear. No. Not Becca. Not my Becca. She stiffens beside me and her muscles tense in her arm against my own. Then I freeze. She's going to the arena. Before I can even finish that thought, she's being whisked away by two Peacekeepers in white uniforms.

"No," I whisper, unable to fully believe the fact that my best friend is being taken from me to compete in a fight to the death. A fight that will mean her death.

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd, but I can't breathe. The butterflies in my stomach have all died, and all that's left is emptiness. No. No. It's not happening. Becca makes her way to the stage, escorted by Peacekeepers, and I find myself screaming.

Tears flood down my cheeks and adrenaline pumps through my system as I hear someone's voice screech the words, "I volunteer!"

All of a sudden, all eyes are on me. A camera spins around and locks on my face. What happened? Then I realize the truth. The voice was mine. I didn't even know I was saving her life when I yelled those two words. I volunteer.

"In her place. As a tribute," I state, trying to sound emotionless, but my voice betraying me by breaking. "I volunteer."

I stare at the ground, unable to face the cameras, the eyes of Panem, the faces of my family and friends. My brother. I chance a look over to where my family stands, and I see my mother, so delicate, so vulnerable, leaning over the rope to see my face, my father, no longer the strong, brave man I once knew, but shaking from emotion, and Layon. Little Layon. My little brother, so impressionable. He looks at me quizzically, but more than that, he's hurt by my choice, then he turns and tears through the crowd, running in the opposite direction. I almost break when I see his hovercraft lying, cracked and battered, on the ground at my parents' feet.

I turn my head toward the stage, where Mister Capitol is standing, wide-eyed, and Becca stares at me, shocked. Then I look towards the boys' section, where Nic is holding onto other boys' shoulders, pale and about to faint, subtle lines of tears constantly streaming down his cheeks. I crack when I see him like that. Broken. I put my face in my hands and weep as the Peacekeepers lead me toward the stage and Becca away from it.

She screams something incomprehensible and tries to tear herself out of the Peacekeepers' grasp, and I have the overwhelming urge to run to her, comfort her, hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay. But I can't. And that's what kills me.

By this time, I'm on the stage, standing next to Capitol Man who says, "Well, well, well! What do we have here?"

I stare out at the audience of my fellow Three residents, then into the camera and the eyes of Panem that are watching me and will be watching me. I try to look as strong and confident as I can, but the screen to my left, which shows my image, reveals to me the face of a sociopath on the verge of insanity and hysteria.

"What's your name, Love?" Capitol Man asks me.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I try to get out anything, even one word, but nothing escapes my lips but a sound similar to that of a mouse that has been stepped on. I see Nic pass out in the distance. I suddenly smile and think that I'll have to bring up that unmanly act later, but then it dawns on me that there will be no "later". I can feel myself lose color. A murmur spreads through the crowd as I pull myself together enough to say, "Seth Bexley."

"Seth! What a wonderful name!" Capitol Man smiles artificially and continues, "Now, for your male tribute." His hand wanders around in the ball before choosing a slip that reads, "Nicholas Patterson."

I almost had a heart attack when I heard "Nicholas", but I was relieved when I heard the last name.

Wait... I know that name. The Pattersons live in the factory portion of town. Nicholas is a year older than me, but he can't do hardly anything but work in a factory. I can take him down easy. Woah. Wait. Did that really just cross my mind? Am I already planning the demises of my competitors? I decided to file that under "freak out about later". For now, I have other worries. Like what the hell I am going to do.

The Patterson boy makes his way to the stage as silence falls in the crowd. My gaze moves to a family that stands out among the dismal faces of Three: the Pattersons, the mother crumpling into a heap on the ground, the father, putting on a facade of strength while his eyes tell me even from my distance that he is about to shatter, and a little girl about five or six years old in a dark pink dress, chestnut brown hair falling to her waist, with an uncomprehending look on her face. She seems so perfect, beautiful and pristine, like Becca was when I met her. My heart cracks in half when I realize that the beautiful little girl with the pink dress may not get her brother back, that she may not even remember him except for any outstanding memories of two siblings who love each other. Or he might come back, alive and well, bringing joy and honor and wealth to his family, while my family suffers from the loss of a child. Neither party wins in this case.

Capitol Man's booming voice breaks me out of my trance and says, "District Three, your tributes for the Seventy-Third Annual Hunger Games!"

Usually, a scattered applause is heard from the crowd, but no sound can be heard except for the sobbing of family members, Becca's distant wailing, and Nic's screams that remind me of a cat that has been shot. I die inside. Everybody in Three knows me or Nicholas Patterson. It's a hit to everybody, as opposed to other years when not as many people knew the tributes. Nobody knows what to do now. Nicholas Patterson and I shake hands and are led off the stage by Peacekeepers to the sound of silence, once the sound of peace, now the sound of my imminent demise. The sound of the silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: For any über-sensitive people who may feel offended by this next chapter, here's a warning: you might not like Seth's flashback very much. There, disclaimer over, thanks for reading! Review please so I can improve!**

I'm numb as the Peacekeepers lead me into the Justice Building of Three. I stare at my feet and follow the hollow sounds of the Peacekeepers' boots hitting the floor. I get used to their rhythm, a steady thud, thud, thud, all in sync with each other. Instead of wallowing in self-pity over my situation, I concentrate on matching their steps, still watching my feet as I step in time with the Peacekeepers. I'm so concentrated on that task, I don't realize when they stop and I keep walking, striding right into the closed door in front of me. Shaken out of my trance, I back up, my hand flying to my head, which is pulsing. I turn to see Helven, a Peacekeeper friend of mine, smiling and surreptitiously stifling a laugh. His smile has always been contagious, and I crack a small grin despite my grim situation.

Another Peacekeeper clears his throat abnormally loudly, causing Helven to snap to attention as yet another Peacekeeper opens the door I had wandered into. He holds it open for me and I nod my head at him, then at Helven, before walking into the room and taking in my surroundings.

A large window takes up nearly the entire wall opposite me, and I can see the clear blue sky though the thick glass. Beneath the window, a large couch covered in burgundy fabric sits, surrounded by no other furniture. As I drift a little farther into the foreboding room, I hear hinges creak and I barely have time to spin around and catch a glimpse of Helven's apologetic face before the door slams shut with a solemn thud and the lock clicks menacingly.

I run toward the door and firmly pound both of my hands on it, though I know I cannot escape. My right hand forms a fist and weakly beats on the door twice before I lay my forehead on it. I sigh and turn so the back of my head rests on the door and my arms are at my sides. I'm really alone. Nobody is coming to save me. I have to defend myself now. I sink to the ground and put my head in my arms, and the door on the opposite side of the room near the window opens as if on cue.

Layon bursts through the door, looking around frantically to find me. I stand and run over to him, stooping down to his level and wrapping my arms around him as he buries his head in my neck. I rub the back of his head and my parents join us on the floor, my mother's hand resting on my back and my father placing his hand on the back of my head. For a couple of minutes, the four of us just sit there on the floor, supporting each other while we contemplate the reality of the situation. I'm leaving Three, maybe forever, and I'll have to fend for myself. They know they can survive without me, but I may not be able to survive without them.

I stare at them each individually for a while, trying to memorize every detail, every crease, every blemish of their faces.

My father is roughly six inches taller than I am, and our hair is the same shade of auburn-brown. He's almost forty-five, but he looks much younger. He has a scruffy almost-beard that's nearly chestnut brown, as opposed to the red of his hair. He's a handsome man, but his watery brown eyes make him seem much older, much more worn, much more tired than the rest of his face makes him seem. They are the eyes of an old man, a man who has lost so much in his life, not just his only daughter, but all his siblings to disease, his parents in a tragic accident before I was born, and the ability to ever truly love again to work, hatred, and trauma. They make him seem weak and frail, like he could give way any minute.

My mother is barely tall enough to rest her head on my shoulder. Her dirty blonde hair contrasts mine and my father's, but her green eyes match mine. She has a small scar across her nose that is barely noticeable, which she'd gotten from a tree she had climbed when she was younger. She's very beautiful, but not in a conventional way. She's beautiful to me. I mean, she's my mother! She'll always be the most beautiful woman I'll ever meet. To me, at least. Even though my hair looks like my dad's, I realize as I'm memorizing that I look exactly like my mother. We have the same nose, the same build, same face shape. Everybody had said that I looked exactly like my mother, but I had never seen it until now. Do I really have that much of a resemblance to the woman I find is the most beautiful? All my life, I have always wished to look like her, be like her. I've only just realized it, and now I'll never be able to tell her how much I love her and admire her.

My gaze then drops to the boy near the floor. Layon has our mother's blonde hair, and our father's eyes and face. He's probably what our father looked like before he was all burned out. He has no flaws on his face, like Dad's worn eyes or Mom's scar or my freckles. He's a perfect little baby-faced child with his whole life ahead of him. I hope he lives to see it, unlike I will.

No. I can't think like that. I will come back alive, I will return to my family, and I will live out a happy life with my friends and family by my side.

When the Peacekeepers reappear to escort my family out the door I had entered through, none of us had spoken. We had simply held one another, knowing it may be the last time we ever see each other.

I can't even look them in the eyes as I say, "Take care of each other," and the Peacekeepers lead them out of the door.

Now what? I wondered as the door near the window opens again, but this time the Pattersons enter, the mother shaking, her face red and her eyes watery, the father crying silently, and the little girl I'd seen before in the pink dress looking wide-eyed at the room around her. I'm still sitting on the floor, and the girl looks at me quizzically, as if I'm some new animal she has just laid eyes on. I stand and walk over to the family, knowing they are in the same place as mine is.

I aim to talk to Nicholas' parents, but before I can make it over to them, something tugs at the hem of my dress, causing me to stop and look down. The girl, who barely comes up to my knee, is looking up at me with her hand still on my dress. Now, I can really take in her appearance. Her tan skin looks just like her mother's, as does her long brown hair, which is now beautifully wavy. She can't be older than three, but every one of her features makes her look much older. She is truly the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen. She reminds me a little of Becca when I met her, not in appearance, but in the way she stands, in her petite figure, but especially in her eyes, Becca's a light blue, this girl's in a dark brown. She's giving me the same look Becca did when I met her, like a pleading puppy. Then I notice she hasn't even been crying. Her eyes aren't red, her face is dry. She doesn't understand. She can't comprehend the danger her brother is in, that I'm in as well. All she knows is that her brother has to go away for a long time. I'm sure that's all her family has told her. She cannot be aware of such mature matters as life and death, of this brutal game of murder. She may not even remember after the Games that she even had a brother. And that kills me.

She pulls very lightly on my dress again, and I stoop down to her level. She lets go of me and holds her hands in front of her, swaying back and forth a little bit, making her hair swish around.

"What's your name?" I ask, curious to see if she'll talk to me.

She shyly pulls at a bit of her hair and says, "Thessa."

I smile and put my hand on her shoulder. "Thessa. Like thessaross? The plant?"

She smiles back and nods. I sit down on the ground by her and say, "Well, you look just as beautiful as that flower itself!"

She smiles and says, "You're Seth."

"Yes, I am."

"You're going with Nicky to the Capitol, right?"

She looks up at me with those big brown eyes and I have no choice but to reply with, "Yes."

"And you're going to play a game with him, right?" Her voice is so innocent, it breaks my heart.

"Yes."

"Everyone's crying. Why are you crying?"

I wipe the tears from my face and smile again. I can't help but smile at her. "Because I might not come back home."

Her face moves from curiosity to confusion. "Why not?"

I look up at her parents, who have regained control of themselves, and they nod, as if giving me permission to tell their daughter a bit of the truth. She deserves it.

"Because the game is very dangerous, sweetie. I might get hurt."

Thessa looks down, taking in my words, then looks back up at me, wide-eyed, and says, "Will Nicky get hurt?"

She is so pitiful.

"I won't let him get hurt, Thessa. I'll try my very best to keep him safe." I can't tell her that he might die during the Games, maybe by my hand. This is the best I can promise her. That I will try to keep her beloved brother safe.

She wraps her arms around my neck, to my surprise. "Thank you, Seth."

I lightly put my hand on her back in response. I then look up at her parents again and decide that I ought to say something to them. I pick Thessa up and hold her on my hip as I stand up. I walk over to the Pattersons and say, "While the Games are going on, please don't let her see anything about him. She doesn't deserve that."

Mrs. Patterson steps closer to me and gives me a one-armed hug, and her husband does the same. Right after, the door opens again and the Pattersons are escorted out by Peacekeepers. Thessa kisses me on the cheek before they leave, and I tell myself that I must protect her brother for as long as I possibly can.

The opposite door opens yet again, this time with Becca and Nic running through the door.

"Seth!" Becca yells when she sees me. She dashes over to me, Nic close behind. She hugs me, and Nic wraps his arms around the both of us. She cries into my shoulder, and I can't help but cry as well. Nic rubs both of our backs, singing quietly to try to relax us. He knows I can't resist the sound of his singing voice and I quiet immediately. It takes a little bit longer for Becca to calm down, but when she does, she says, "Seth, you're just a bloody idiot."

Nic and I both laugh lightly at her comment, and he kisses my forehead and pulls me closer to him. I don't know how I'm going to leave them like this. But it's better than Becca being dragged away, putting on a brave face. I'm a much better candidate.

"I can't believe you did that," she tells me, though the sound of her voice is muffled because her face is still buried into my shoulder.

"I thought she was going to pass out," adds Nic.

"But it was you who did," I reply, smiling at the thought of the scene from the stage.

Nic smiles as well and I lay my head on his shoulder, my forehead resting against his neck. As I do so, I feel him relax beneath my embrace. I'm not normally a touchy-feely person, but today is obviously not normal. I usually push Nic away when he tries to be all lovey-dovey, which seems to be often.

As I think that, I see a scene in my head and realize I'm about too lose touch. I can feel myself falling, not falling into the memory, but physically falling over, and I grab Nic's jacket with both hands to prevent myself from getting injured as my mind replays a scene from earlier on in the week.

_"Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery."_

_A familiar touch distracts me from my reading. I glance away from the pages of __Frankenstein__ and look at my studying companion, who has become bored with his notes and is playing with a strand of my hair. I sweep my hand along my hair, coming between it and Nic's hand, and pull it over my shoulder with a small smile. I continue reading._

_"'When night came I quieted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a staglike swiftness.'"_

_I felt a heavier touch come down on my shoulder and I turn my head, but only slightly, because there was another head in my way. Nic's was rested on my shoulder, looking at my book. I stare at him for a couple of seconds, and he tilts his head to meet my gaze. He breaks out into a smile and I roll my eyes in fake exasperation. I roll my shoulder back, indicating that he ought to move his head, which he does. I then turn with my body facing him and sitting with my legs crossed, with my left elbow on the back of the sofa. I lean on my right knee with my other elbow and continue reading, pretending the more protective pose is more comfortable than it is._

_"'Oh! What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoym-'"_

_I couldn't get the chance to even finish the sentence before I notice a dark head slowly rise up behind my book until the only feature of Nic's I can see is his eyes. The large pupils of his eyes act as kinds of windows, which show me all sorts of things. Happiness, amusement, playfulness, cleverness, slyness, and something I had never seen in his face before, something I only saw in the eyes of wild animals outside the fence, something primal I can't quite put my finger on._

_My heart begins to beat faster as I smile and clap the book shut between my hands (my finger still in the book to mark my page). I slouch over and lean both my elbows on my knees as I look at the boy in front of me._

_He is sitting in the same position I had been in, and his grinning face is not even a foot from mine. His deep brown eyes have not changed since he had peeked over my book, but seeing the bottom half of his face makes him look... different... almost sinister in the way his half-smile matches the animalistic glint I had seen in his eyes before. He reminds me a bit of a wild cat, ready to pounce on anything that shows the first sign of weakness, a cat who has stalked one particular bit of prey and is plotting in its head the perfect way to attack, to get exactly what it wants, what it needs, what it has to get in order to live on. I'm the prey in this predatory situation._

_"May I help you?" I say sarcastically, still staring at his face and now feeling threatened by the feral aura emanating from him. Well, half of me feels threatened. The other half... actually the vast majority of me is curious as to what is bringing out this primal side of him. I can also sense a small bit of myself wanting to reverse the roles, to become the attacker and not the victim... but not in a violent way..._

_Without breaking my gaze - we must have been staring at each other for a while by now - he takes hold of both my wrists in one hand and gently draws my book from my grasp with the other. I don't even protest, I'm so mesmerized by the look on his face. The hand that took my book comes to rest on my waist, and I'm broken from my trance, wondering the fate of __Frankenstein__. Before I can even open my mouth to ask, he's kissing me, and every thought drains from my mind._

_We've kissed plenty before, but this seems a bit different. Very different, in fact. Nic's shy side crosses over into physical contact, and he's usually very tentative and gentle. He's sweet, and it makes me feel warm and happy. It had always been a representation of our intellectual bond, something more evolved than what's going on now. This, on the other hand, is immensely different. It's physical, it's carnal, it's... sensual. That's really the only word to describe the atmosphere he's giving off._

_As I realize the reality of everything I saw in his eyes, the desire from before to become the predator builds and I slide one hand out of his grasp. It sneaks its way up his chest and to his neck. I rest my hand on the nape of his neck, and he shifts underneath my touch, which I now realize is cold. I lightly rub on the back of his neck, and I feel his lips smile seductively against my own. I'm not usually like this. He's not usually like this either. It's very different._

_But I love it._

_It's new and different and colorful and unlike anything either of us have ever experienced._

_My other wrist is still trapped in his hand, both of which he has caught between us. I am just as strong as he is, so I'm able jerk out of his grasp and take his waist, as he has mine. He gets distracted by my sudden movement and loses his balance momentarily, but long enough for him to catch himself before he hits his head on the arm of the sofa. He's on his back and our faces are mere inches apart. One of my hands is holding onto the back of his head, the other is trapped between his body and the couch. I gently work my hand loose from the snare and push myself up a little bit with my free hand. I don't know what he thought I was going to do, judging by the change in his facial expression, but I reach underneath his shirt and kiss him with such force that I feel an untamed growl resounding in his chest._

_I chance to open my eyes and see that his still have that gleam that I'm sure mine mirror._

I return to the present with a jerk and a shudder. My heart is still beating quickly, but it sinks when I can't pull myself back into the memory to continue living in the past. It felt like when you're having a really great dream and then you wake up and you can't fall asleep again, no matter how hard you try.

I realize I'm still standing straight up, Nic supporting me and Becca about two feet away. It always scares her when I have an unexpected flashback. This was probably worse for her considering the timing.

Then, a startling thought comes to me.

"Seth?" says Becca, her eyes still wide. "What if that happens during the Games?"

She took the words right out of my mouth.

Before I answer, Nic replies, "They probably have some medicine they'll give her so she doesn't break down like that during the Games. It wouldn't make for a good show if a star competitor keeps fainting like that."

Becca looks more calm at his words, but I look up at him and judge that we're thinking the same thing: that it would make for a good show if a tribute has flashbacks. It will keep everybody on their toes, the Gamemakers, the audience, and the tributes.

"What was it about?" Nic asks, obviously trying to change the subject.

I can feel myself going red and make a noncommittal grunt. "How long was I out?"

"About twenty or thirty seconds," he replies with a suspecting look on his face.

Wow. Only twenty or thirty seconds? It felt much longer. I guess it played back faster in my mind than it actually took up time. "Huh," I say, unsure of what to say.

"What was it about?" asks Becca, now curious since I avoided answering.

"Not important," I say quickly. Too quickly, apparently, since Nic leans in closer to me, determined to get an answer out of me.

"Tell me," he whispers, almost croons into my ear. I almost faint again. Goodness, that's really not like me.

"It was the other day when we were studying," I tell the two of them, but intending it mostly for Nic, who freezes and subtly smiles so Becca can't see.

Becca looks confused. "What's so interesting about that?"

Goodness, I must be beet red by now. I shrug, trying to hide my embarrassment.

"I know what was so interesting!" says Nic playfully.

I turn to look at him, and he has the same half-smile and big eyes from before, though less animalistic and more smug than anything else. I roll my eyes and playfully punch him lightly in the stomach, causing him to jump back and laugh while still keeping a hand on my back. Funny, he's my best friend, but also more than that. It's perfection. When I come back, I'll show him how much he means to me.

It's a small victory that I think "when" instead of "if." Look! I'm thinking positively now!

That really isn't normal. I should get these abnormalities checked out by a Capitol doctor.

He swings back to me and I push him again, both of us laughing this time. I can see Becca smile in the corner of my eye and lean against the wall as we continue to poke and prod at each other. I'll miss this while I'm gone. Nic acting like an idiot, me tolerating (and sometimes enjoying) his lovable idiocy, and Becca always being there to tow him/us back to Earth.

Nic spins me under his arm like some sort of dance move and pulls me into a kiss. It's short, and it's sweet, and it's perfect. We break apart and I see Becca uncharacteristically making vomiting faces at us. We all three laugh and we forget our problems.

That is, until the Peacekeepers open the door for the last time. We're still laughing, an odd sight for the Peacekeepers during this time of tragedy. Helven is still outside the door and gives us a raised eyebrow, signaling that the scene does look very odd, indeed. We all stop laughing, but we still smile as we say our final goodbye's, me hugging Becca and stealing one last kiss from Nic.

"I love you both!" I call as they exit together.

"Love you, Seth!" replies Becca as Nic's face falls slightly as he simply says, "I love you."

The doors shut and I hear the worst sound I've ever encountered: Nic is now crying right outside the door. I can hear it getting fainter and fainter as the pair of them leave down the hall, and I can feel my heart fall into the floor and down to the three story deep basement. How I know, that, I can't quite remember, but that's the pain I feel as I hear my fiancé crying and there's nothing I can do about it.

After a minute, the crying has disappeared and I'm still planted exactly where I was when I first heard the sound. Now, I hear nothing. Should someone be coming to get me? If so, footsteps should be coming down the hall. But there's nothing. Just silence.


End file.
